13-04-2025, 05:25 PM
My disgust wasn’t just physical—it was deeper, tied to everything Manoj was trying to take.
Dad was gone, working himself to death for us, and Manoj thought he could slink in and claim Mom’s body, her dignity, our family.
Ad my holy mom, didn't have any other options because she was deprived of sex.
He wasn’t just a pervert—he was a predator, mocking Mom’s faith with every touch, every word, and I hated how small I felt, how my skinny arms couldn’t do anything but tremble.
Then he leaned back further, his voice dropping to a filthy, obsessive purr, his eyes glinting in the lamplight.
Manoj: - “It’s like sweat and salt, Rekha. Your asshole’s dripping with it—raw, like you’ve been carrying this house, this life, all on your own. The smell’s thick, heavy, like every day you’ve spent working, worrying, pretending you don’t need a man to make you feel alive. It’s salty, bitter, coats my tongue like a fucking gift, makes my dick throb so hard I can barely stand it. You’re all woman here, Rekha, and I’m gonna taste every inch of it.”
Mom: - "You’re vile, Manoj. Sweat and salt? You think that’s some kind of compliment? It’s my body, my struggle, not your sick fantasy. I pray to God to forgive me for letting you anywhere near me. You’re twisting something pure into something evil, and I won’t let you drag me into your sin.”
Manoj: - "Evil? This is real, Rekha. This sweaty, salty asshole is you—every bit of your strength, your heat, your truth. It’s screaming for me, even if you won’t admit it. Your body’s honest, even if your mouth lies. I’m not stopping, not when I can feel how much you’re mine tonight.”
Mom: - "I’m not yours, Manoj, and I never will be. My heart belongs to my husband, my faith to God, my life to my son. You’re forcing this, denigrating me, but you can’t touch my soul. Get out of my house now, or I’ll scream until someone hears.”
She tried to pull away, her nightgown slipping down, her buttocks finally still, but Manoj’s grip held her close, his fingers digging into her asscheeks skin.
The image of her plump ass jiggling with every lick was burned into my mind, a loop I couldn’t stop, each ripple a reminder of how he was trying to break her.
Then he stood, his face flushed with a sick kind of triumph, and moved to the bed, sprawling across it like he owned every inch of our home.
He caught his dick, rubbing his cock—hard, ugly, a sight that made my stomach twist again, my young mind grappling with something so raw and wrong.
Manoj: - " Come here, Rekha. Get on your knees and suck my dick. It’s rock-hard for you, begging for that pretty mouth. You’ve teased me long enough—time to give me what I deserve.”
Mom: - “No, Manoj. I won’t do that. It’s a sin, a betrayal of my marriage, my faith, my family. I’m a mother, a wife, a woman who prays every day. I won’t!"
Manoj: - “Sin? Fuck your sin, Rekha. Your husband’s not here to save you, and I’m throbbing for you. Get over here and wrap your lips around my cock, or I’ll make you. You owe me this after letting me taste you.”
Mom: -
“I owe you nothing, Manoj. You’ve already taken too much, forcing yourself on me like this."
He didn’t budge, just stroked himself, his eyes locked on her with a predator’s focus.
Then he lunged, grabbing her arm and yanking her toward him. Mom stumbled, her face tight with fear and disgust, and he pushed her down, forcing her head toward his cock.
At first, it didn’t work—his dick pressed against her lips, but her mouth stayed shut, her jaw clenched like a steel trap, her hands pushing against his thighs.
Manoj: - "Open your fucking mouth, Rekha. You’re gonna take my cock, whether you like it or not. I’m done asking—suck it, or I’ll make it hurt.”
Mom: - “It won’t fit, Manoj. It’s too big, and I don’t want this. Stop, please—I’m begging you. This is wrong, it’s against my faith, my marriage. I can’t do this, I won’t.”
Manoj: - "Too big? You’ll make it fit, Rekha. I don’t care about your whining—I want your lips around my dick, and I’m not waiting. Open up, or I’ll pry it open myself.”
Mom: - “I can’t, Manoj. It’s choking me just thinking about it. You’re forcing me into something evil, something that spits on my husband, my son, I’m not that woman—stop this now.”
He gripped her hair, twisting it hard in his fist, and pushed with more force. Mom’s lips parted under the pressure, a small, pained sound escaping as his cock forced its way in, inch by inch.
Her eyes squeezed shut, tears leaking from the corners, her face crumpling like she was choking, her throat convulsing with soft, desperate gags.
She was bent over, her body hunched awkwardly, her naked body riding up as she tried to pull back, but Manoj’s hand was a vice, guiding her mouth down his dick with a slow, deliberate cruelty.
He moved her head, making her take it bit by bit—first the tip, slick and swollen, then deeper, each inch a violation she couldn’t stop.
Her cheeks hollowed, her breath came in sharp, panicked bursts, and her hands clawed weakly at the bed, fingers digging into the sheets.
Her face was a map of misery—eyes watering, brows knitted, lips stretched painfully around him, gagging softly with every push.
It was simply rocket science to explain how her mouth accommodated his massive & astronomical cock.
Her body shuddered, her shoulders trembled, and every movement screamed she hated this, wanted it to end, her mind clinging to her faith even as her body was trapped.
Manoj: - “How’s it taste, Rekha? My cock filling your mouth, sliding down your throat—bet it’s better than your husband’s, better than your fucking prayers. Tell me you love it, tell me it’s making you wet.”
Mom didn’t speak, couldn’t, her mouth too full, her throat too strained. She shook her head slightly, eyes still closed, tears streaking her cheeks, and gave a tiny nod—not agreement, but a reflex, the only response she could manage under his grip.
Her silence was her defiance, her way of holding onto herself even as he tried to break her.
I watched, my heart splintering, my young mind reeling from the sight. Then I saw something else—Mom’s pussy, exposed as it was, glistening with wetness that dripped down her thighs.
As a kid, I didn’t understand what it meant, but it looked like she was ready, like her body was in ecstasy, begging to be fucked.
I thought it meant she wanted this, but I was wrong—just a boy misreading her body’s involuntary reaction, not seeing the truth in her face: the disgust, the shame, the fight to stay whole.
Her dripping pussy wasn’t desire—it was betrayal, her body acting against her will, and it made my confusion twist tighter, my disgust mixing with a childish hope I’d misunderstood.
Honestly speaking, mom wanted to be fucked because her pussy was wet but she didn't want it.
Manoj kept her there, his hand like a clamp on her head, ensuring she couldn’t escape the sucking trap of the blowjob.
Her mouth slid up and down his cock, slow and forced, every inch a battle she was losing.
Her gags softened, but her body stayed tense, her fingers gripping the bed so hard the knuckles whitened, her shoulders shaking with effort.
She couldn’t break free, not with his grip so tight, not with his will overpowering her strength.
Manoj: - "Fuck, Rekha, your mouth’s so wet, so tight around my dick. You’re sucking it like a filthy slut, you know that? Bet your pussy’s dripping for my cock, begging to be fucked raw. You’re mine, every nasty inch of you.”
Mom: - “Stop, Manoj, please. I’m not that woman. You’re forcing this, wanting to fuck me, but you can’t take my faith, my love for my family.”
Manoj: - “Faith? Fuck your faith, Rekha. Your lips are on my cock, your cunt’s wet as hell, dripping like a whore’s. You can pray all you want, but your body’s screaming for me. I’m gonna fuck every hole you’ve got before I’m done.”
Mom: - “No, Manoj. I’m not yours. I belong to my husband, to God, to my son. You’re a devil, twisting my body against me, but my heart’s still pure. You’ll never have me, no matter what you do.”
Her voice was muffled, cracking under the strain, but it was still Mom—still Rekha, clinging to her prayers, her love for us, even as he tried to strip it all away.
I watched, my eye burning from the keyhole, my chest so tight I could barely breathe.
The scene was a nightmare: Mom’s bent form, her dripping pussy I misread as desire, her asshole, which I couldn't even see clearly due to her fat ass, Manoj’s cock sliding deeper into her mouth, her buttocks no longer jiggling but her body still violated.
I wanted to be a hero, to save her, but I was just Sanjay, a kid too small to fight a monster like him.
Mom—Rekha, my holy mom—was on her knees, her face twisted in pain, her lips stretched around Manoj’s cock.
Her tears caught the lamplight, and her hands clawed at the bed, desperate for something to hold onto.
Manoj’s hand was tangled in her hair, forcing her head down, his grunts loud and ugly, like he was claiming her.
I wanted to be a hero, to save her, but I was just Sanjay, a skinny kid with nothing but fear in my bones.
Manoj’s eyes roamed the room, hungry for something to make this worse. His eyes landed on the desk, on the framed photo of me, Mom, and Dad—smiling at a picnic years ago, when Dad was still alive in our lives, not just a shadow working himself to death.
The sight of it lit something evil in Manoj’s face.
Manoj - “Fuck, Rekha, look at that photo. Your happy little family, huh? I want you to spit on it. Right now, with my cock in your mouth. Spit that wet shit all over your husband and kid.”
Mom - “Mmm—no, Manoj, please don’t make me. That’s our love, our memory. It’s all I have left of them. Don’t twist it into something filthy.”
Manoj - “Don’t fucking whine, Rekha. You’re sucking my dick like a slut—spit on that picture, show me how much you care about them.”
Mom - “I can’t, Manoj. It’s sacred—my husband, my son. I’d rather choke than hurt them like that. Please, stop this.”
Her voice was muffled, strained around his cock, but her eyes were wide with horror, darting to the photo.
I felt my stomach drop—would Mom really do it? Spit on us? On our family photo?
On Dad’s tired smile, on my goofy grin from that day we laughed over watermelon?
My hands shook, my nails digging into my palms. She was my mom, pure and holy—she couldn’t desecrate our family. But then her head gave a tiny nod, so small I almost missed it, like she thought it’d end this nightmare.
Manoj - “Oh, you nodded, you filthy bitch. Knew you’d break. Keep sucking my cock, Rekha, and get ready to spit on that fucking photo.”
Mom - “Mmm—I only nodded to stop this, Manoj. I don’t want to. It’s my heart you’re asking me to ruin. Please, don’t make me.”
Manoj - “Shut up, Rekha. You’re gonna spit, and you’re gonna like it. My dick’s throbbing for you—do it, or I’ll shove it deeper.”
Mom - “God forgive me, Manoj. I just want this to end. I’m not that woman—I love my family, not you.”
Her nod was desperation, not agreement, but it still hit me like a punch. I couldn’t breathe, thinking she might actually do it, might stain the only piece of us we had left.
My young mind spun, torn between love for her and the fear she was slipping away.
Manoj let go of her hair for a second, grabbing the framed photo with a sneer. He held it up, tilting it so our faces—Dad’s warm eyes, my gap-toothed smile, Mom’s soft glow—stared back at her.
Her lips were still wrapped around his cock, her cheeks hollowed, her gags quieter but her body shaking.
He pushed the frame closer, his voice low and cruel.
To be continued......
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